


good morning, angel

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [30]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awake The Snake, Crowley’s dreams, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, TWO IDIOTS, july 1st fic, post-lockdown, the author overexplains angelic love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: Crowley finally wakes up from his nap! And he has something important to tell Aziraphale...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 21
Kudos: 145
Collections: AwakeTheSnake





	good morning, angel

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to #AwakeTheSnake on Twitter!

Quite imperceptibly, right underneath Aziraphale’s nose, the year slid quietly from its June into its July skin, and the angel soon found himself staring at his antique telephone.

July. Crowley said he would set his alarm for then. Of course he didn’t say _when_ in July he was going to wake, but per their previous conversation, Aziraphale was given to understand that it would be as soon as June had gotten itself over and done with. He peered at the handset, his own hands clasped close to his sternum, wondering if he should phone. Wondering if 10 AM on a Thursday morning was late enough for a demon to have gotten out of bed already. Certainly, he thought, certainly if Crowley was up by now, the first thing he’d do was call Aziraphale. 

“Oh, for Heavens’ sake,” said Aziraphale, and he reached for the phone.

And then, something rather silly happened. His antique handset started to shudder violently, and ripped itself from his hand— it hung in midair, then trembled furiously as a fountain of sparks, blinding white and blue, poured out of the earpiece and coalesced in a sparking nexus above the desk. Then with one tremendous zap, it burst— books rattled in their shelves, an empty winged mug toppled over and Aziraphale ducked.

When he looked up again he saw, sitting on the desk, his clothes still sparking from the phone line, none other than Anthony J. Crowley. 

He ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, good morning, Angel.”

“Crowley!” exclaimed Aziraphale, delightedly, and then, more angrily, “Crowley!”

“The one and only,” grinned the demon. He slid off the desk.

“You gave me such a horrid fright,” Aziraphale pouted. “I was just about to call you.”

“Oh. You were?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again, then said, “I was just about to. Well. Consider calling you. After all, you did say. July. You’d wake up in July.”

“Uh. Yeah. So I did,” mumbled Crowley. “Anyway, ‘m here now.”

“Yes, indeed you are,” Aziraphale said, looking around to ensure nothing had broken.

“Sorry that I startled you and all. But I was just going to call to say...good morning.”

With an immense rush, like he’d suddenly found himself standing underneath a massive waterfall, Aziraphale realised how much he really missed Crowley, missed all of him— the little shrug he did, the spikes of his unruly red hair, the stupid tattoo on the side of his face, the shape of him long and lean and inky-black taking up space in the bookshop, which now felt suddenly too big and too empty. “Good morning then,” Aziraphale said.

“And,” Crowley added hastily, “something else. Something else I need to tell you. It’s rather, uh, important.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, eyes widening. “Well, I suppose we’d better sit down. But with tea,” he added, “and a light snack— even you must be starving after eating nothing for a month.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Can’t be hungry if you’re asleep, of course, but how hungry do you feel now?”

Crowley’s stomach answered with a soft complaining noise, as if it too had just woken up and was disappointed to find itself empty, and Crowley looked at Aziraphale sheepishly.

The angel smiled. “I thought so.”

He led Crowley into the back room and in no time at all had them set up with the remains of his cake, a pot of tea, and a tray of fresh fruit. Crowley nibbled at the grapes and complimented Aziraphale on his improved baking skills.

“Keeping busy, I see,” he remarked.

“Not much left to do when my wily adversary isn’t causing trouble for me to thwart,” joked Aziraphale, and he caught a fond yellow-eyed smile flash itself for a moment. “Now,” he said, settling across from Crowley with his own plate of cake, “what is it you wanted to tell me? Is it something about...?” He pointed to the ground below them, surreptitiously.

Crowley stared for a moment, a confused expression on his face, before realising what Aziraphale meant. “No. Nah, nothing of the sort. I’d barely been awake two hours before I called you, they didn’t have time to reach out to me...anyway, I think we’re really off their books now, right? Anything from your lot?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, “well, that is, not for me. But the other angels...plenty to keep them busy. Healing and protecting and inducting all those...those poor souls whose time came sooner than it should have...” Aziraphale got that tight, concerned look on his face, like he did when the Ark was being filled. “No. Quite a bit going on Upstairs, but nothing for me to do here. Which is a shame. I’ve still got so much— so much love, and nowhere to put it. Except perhaps for these cakes.” He managed a chuckle. “Oh, but I’m sorry to have rambled, Crowley. What is it, then?”

He watched Crowley put his cake down, that wickedly mobile tongue lick crumbs off his lips— never one for a proper napkin, that demon. Then he fixed Aziraphale in his golden gaze. He looked, for the first time, rather like the prey and less like the predator, and it almost scared Aziraphale to see him so vulnerable.

“Uh, the thing is,” Crowley began, hesitantly, “when I was asleep...you see, I- I- I dreamed a lot about you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and smiled, “Did you? I do hope they were good dreams.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, almost hushed. “They really were. You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” 

Aziraphale blushed. “I may have sent something miraculous and- and peaceful your way,” he admitted, “but nothing specific, and only once or twice...I just wished you’d dream of whatever it is you liked best.”

“Well,” Crowley said. “It worked.”

Aziraphale looked up.

“So, um,” Crowley continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever it is I liked best. That’s you. Apparently. And when I— when I woke up I realised that, uh, I loved you. That I love you.” He could barely look at Aziraphale, instead concentrating on the fruit bowl before him, willing the bananas to remain ripe. “So...uh, do with that information as you will.”

There was a heavy silence in the bookshop. They heard the old grandfather clock ticking, and the windows rattling slightly as a lorry drove past. Crowley looked at the fruit bowl. Aziraphale looked at Crowley. His hands clasped and unclasped.

Finally Crowley groaned. “This was such a bad idea.”

“No,” Aziraphale blurted out. “No it wasn’t. My dear, I— forgive me. I was just thrown for a moment, that’s all. Rather, getting my head around it.”

“I know,” Crowley said helplessly. “It’s ‘cause demons aren’t supposed to be able to love, right?”

“Well I’ve always known you were special.”

Crowley blinked yellow eyes at him. “‘S okay, Angel.”

“What is okay?”

Another shrug. The shoulders of his black blazer rising and falling sharply. “If you don’t love me back. I know you care about me. I know you look out for me. And you definitely like me.” He grinned smugly. “But if you don’t love me, love me love me, like—“

“Like you love me?” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley’s view of the fruit bowl was quite suddenly obstructed by the sight of Aziraphale’s hand reaching for his, and holding it, like it might actually be something rare and precious to be handled with care.

“Not meant to be loved, anyway, demons are,” Crowley sniffed, keeping his eyes averted.

“You know, my dear,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft. “Angels aren’t meant to be loved either. We’re put on this earth to love, not to be the loved ones. We were never supposed to get any of that back because our love is pure, selfless.” When he looked up he found Crowley meeting his gaze. “Well,” Aziraphale continued, “I think we misunderstood the whole time. We didn’t take into account that when... when you love so much, some of that love is bound to come flooding back.”

Crowley frowned. That made sense, oddly.

“Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you,” Aziraphale said, and exhaled like he had just set down a heavy burden.

“You have?”

Aziraphale nodded. “So very much, Crowley. Do you know, of all God’s creatures, you’re my favourite?”

Crowley broke out into a cheesy, giddy grin. “I am?”

“My very favourite one,” Aziraphale said, and leaned forward and kissed Crowley’s forehead. “It’s just that, with everything in the way...I never really knew what kind of love you needed. There’s ever so many sorts, you know. So, my dear, tell me how you want me to love you, and I will. With all my heart.”

“I,” began Crowley, and he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again they were wet.

Aziraphale came round and pulled Crowley to his feet, pulled him close gently. It occurred to Crowley that he’d never actually hugged Aziraphale before. It was— well, it was soft, and it was _nice_.

“Is this a good start?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Mm. Yeah.” He nestled into the angel’s shoulder. “The kind of love that does, uh, this.”

“And the kind of love that does this?” Crowley felt an arm wrapping firmly around his waist. Aziraphale turned them, almost gracefully, and dipped Crowley to the floor with ease.

“What the—“ Crowley chuckled, “what are you doing?” 

“Dancing, I think.”

Crowley swung upright again, and they both grinned at each other, rather flustered. “Sure. I guess.”

“And how else?” Aziraphale said, as they turned slowly on the carpet.

“Well I suppose you could feed me when I forget that eating is a thing,” chuckled Crowley softly, and in answer a single grape appeared in Aziraphale’s hand. He held it up to Crowley tentatively, who opened his mouth without a single fret. “And you’ve already waited for me to wake up from a long sleep. Isn’t that what the prince does in all the fairytales?”

“Certainly. Anything, my sweet, wily, wonderful serpent.”

“I— sure, why not.” Crowley leaned his forearms on Aziraphale’s shoulders like they were teenagers at the prom. “Call me all them names. All the cute ones you can think of. Tell me...” he sighed, “tell me how good I still am, sometimes.”

“Oh, Crowley, how delightful,” said Aziraphale, practically bouncing on his feet.

“Knock yourself out,” mumbled Crowley, but he was smiling. “I dunno, Angel, that all seems okay. Most I can tell you is that I...don’t want to be alone.” He pressed in closer, wrapping his arms tight around Aziraphale. “Ever.”

“Now that I can certainly ensure.” Aziraphale stroked his back in a soothing manner. “And would you like to be kissed?”

Crowley pulled away just a little. “W-would you like to kiss me?”

Aziraphale’s answering nod was shy. He leaned in, close enough to feel Crowley’s eyelashes on his face. “Like so.”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice was like the ghost of a whisper. “Like so.”

His lips were unexpectedly soft. Aziraphale wasn’t going to deny that touching them with his own sent a thrill through his entire corporation, a sudden flood of warmth like he’d downed a whole mug of hot cocoa. He didn’t need to worry about where to put all this love, now that Heaven wasn't telling him what to do with it. Crowley could have it. It was, perhaps, meant to be his.

“Mm,” sighed the demon, and then, with a stretch, he broke off. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi,” said Aziraphale, smiling against his cheek. “Wide awake now?”

“Yes. Very.” He reached up to palm Aziraphale’s cheek.

“Good morning, my love.”

Crowley smiled. “Good morning, Angel.”  
  



End file.
